


Love without philosophizing (is like having a quick coffee)

by SomeCoolName



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Awkward Flirting, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Fluff and Humor, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8954785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeCoolName/pseuds/SomeCoolName
Summary: Erik is a waiter, Charles is one of his regular client. His "young successful business man" side might well piss Erik off, Erik swears he did *not* spill his coffee on Charles Xavier on purpose... (Or maybe he did, who knows.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Here's a gift for jxmesmcavoy, for the Cherik Secret Santa of 2016 :D  
> My dear jxmesmcavoy, I hope you'll like this fluffy story :)
> 
> The titled is inspired by the amazing French song "Couleur Café" by Serge Gainsbourg. 
> 
> English is still not my first language, and it's not beta'd so I'm sorry if there are remaining mistakes!
> 
> ❄ Meanwhile, enjoy your reading girls and boys, have GREAT holidays, tell your family and friends you love them, and spread the love for the next year to come! ❄

Erik rises his eyes with the slowness of a kid who's bringing back a report card to his parents. The bad kind of one. Really bad.    
  
The problem with those new coffees (which are the joy of the entrepreneurs, and bobos who don't really mind how much they're paying for hot water and synthetics aromas labelled "Coffee from Costa Rica" to give themselves good conscious), is that the sizes considerably doubled. The Small is the new Medium, the Large is sold by hundreds each day and it's presently an Extra Large that Erik spilled on the costume of the man in front of him.    
  
"Mh. That's annoying."   
  
Yeah, no, the guy can't have said _ this _ , like this. No one says ' _ Mh, that's annoying _ '; people scream and are furious when coffee is spilled on them - Erik would probably hit someone if it happens to him. But truth is, the coffee hasn't end up on just anybody.    
  
Erik is working at this coffee since four months now. Of course, it's not the job of his life, but before he finds something better, he still needs to pay his rent. Two times by week (sometimes less) he serves this guy: he mustn't be more than thirty years old, brown hair with eyes so blue they are somehow obscene and lips of a dark pink as if he spent an hour kissing someone before coming here. And of bloody course there are the fine suits he wears (of which Erik would very much like to know the price) which are mocking by themselves the 6$ per hour that Erik earns by working here.    
  
Every time this guys enters the coffee, the women working with Erik smile and touch their hair. He knows their names, asks them about their day, always has a compliment about their clothes or any other kind of bullshit. It pisses Erik off so much, that a capitalist from the City dares to come to this organic and human coffee, to ease his conscious before probably fire half of his staff to delocalize in China.    
  
Erik isn't a big connoisseur of psychoanalysis but he's almost certain it's not a Freudian Slip which made him spill his coffee on Charles Xavier. Almost.    
  
"Sir, I'm so sorry, are you okay?" Moira asks, utterly confused, handing out paper towels to the man who takes them but doesn't apply them on the wide brown stain on his white shirt and the top of his pants. Erik only realizes now he must have burn him.    
  
"I'm okay, thank you. Do you have loos here?"   
  
"Of course," Erik confirms, showing him his hand to tell him to follow his lead.    
  
From the corner of his eye, he sees the man holding his shirt from the tips of his fingers and walking oddly so that the fabric doesn't touch his skin. He brings him behind a locked door that he opens with his powers (Moira loves the fact she doesn't have to make him a copy of every single key, she says she's making economy) and indicates the door with a nod. Charles thanks him and disappears behind it. Erik leans against a wall next to the furniture with the clean plates and waits. He hears some water running and fabrics being rubbed one against the other. Erik has seen enough clients coming back with their lawyers to know organic coffee doesn't go off that easily.    
  
The man finally exits the restrooms and Erik must squint his eyes to be sure he's seeing correctly. He's not wearing his grey tailored suit anymore but a loose pair of tracksuit and a white t-shirt. He smiles when they look at each other and taps the bag against his left side.    
  
"I went to sport this morning."   
  
Erik nods, not that he particularly cares but he had to react somehow. He steps back when the client walks closer to look at himself in the mirror and he just has time to notice those pants don't perfectly suit his ass (that Erik would feel free to spank, if he had the occasion), before the man's voice resonates:   
  
"It costs 2700$."   
  
"I beg your pardon?"   
  
"My costume costs 2700$. That's what you were wondering five minutes ago, right?"   
  
Erik freezes, swallows his spit and freezes again. How can he possibly...   
  
"Know that? Ah, yes, I'm a telepath," the man smiles, glancing at him through the mirror.    
  
Alright, fantastic, Erik is simply in deep shit.    
  
"I'm getting on your nerves that much, mh?" he asks, voice softer, almost ashamed.    
  
He keeps brushing his long brown hair with his fingers and finally turns around. He's softly bitting his bottom lip and Erik understands why they're so red, if he's martyrizing them this way. He stretches out a hand and presents himself:   
  
"Charles Xavier. Nice to meet you."   
  
"I know," Erik snarls, shaking it nonetheless. "Who still answers his phone by saying his name?"   
  
"Really, is that something I do?" Charles laughs, raising his eyebrows.    
  
"Always. And as you're spending your time on the phone, all we hear every time you come here is ‘ _ Charles Xavier speaking’ _ ."   
  
Charles laughs, nodding and hides his hands in the loose pockets of his pants.      
  
"I'm sorry, it's true I'm spending a lot of time on the phone. But it's because of work. Well, at least it keeps me from hearing all those obscene things you want to do to my body."   
  
Erik tilts his head, his eyes not leaving once those blue and fascinating in front of him. He doesn't have time to understand by himself that Charles' fingers are already agitating around his own temple and the word 'telepath' suddenly totally makes sense.    
  
"Oh, fuck."   
  
"It's a bit vulgar, I wouldn't have gone this far..."   
  
"Oh  _ fuck _ ," Erik repeats, turning around to not face the gaze he imagined more than once observing from above while Charles would be on his knees and... nope, no, no no no, he can't think about something like this especially while Charles is right here.    
  
"My sweet Erik..." Charles calls, walking closer. He's smaller, his face is in front of Erik's shoulder blades and Erik feels he's standing on tiptoe to get closer to his ear before he whispers, "I'm about to attempt a four hours meeting, hold by tyrannic investors and I'll have to face them while wearing a tracksuit. Be a dear and don't hold yourself from imaging all the things you want to imagine, to give me delicious fantasies to face the day.   
  
Why is he still talking? Erik should turn around, grab him by the jaw and forces his lips on his before invading his mouth with his tongue to shut him up once and for all.    
  
"Yes..." Charles whispers so low it seems he didn't want for Erik to hear him.    
  
Erik smiles despite himself as he imagines slightly bitting the red lips which taunted him more than once, making Charles beg to stop and to continue, without being able to make a choice. He should take off of him that stupid pants, touch his thighs to be sure he hasn't burn him and kiss them, kiss them again, going up to his briefs that he'll leave on him, licking his cock above the fabric. Charles would be adorable for sure, trying to pull down his briefs himself to have more (because this kind of guy, who understands words like 'Nasdaq' et 'Interim dividend', can't wait nor obey an order) and Erik wouldn't let him move.   
  
"Erik…" Charles moans.   
  
He turns around to face him and beams in front of Charles' wrecked face whose lips have never been so red and eyes so blue. It's a good thing Charles wasn't born in the early twentieth century, a bunch of painters would have never dare to touch a canvas, miffed by advance they wouldn't be able to create something as beautiful as Charles Xavier.    
  
"You're going to be late."   
  
"Don't make me leave in this state."   
  
"I can offer you a coffee if you want," Erik smiles proudly which makes Charles pulls a face.    
  
"Erik, please..." He steps forward so he can stay against Erik's body, who feels his hard-on against his thigh. Erik raises a hand to gently stroke his temple and thinks as hard as he can about a street and a number. Charles looks at him, confused and Erik asks him:   
  
"Do you understand... ?"   
  
Charles focuses a few more seconds before he smiles, cheekily.    
  
"It's your place."   
  
"9 P.M?"   
  
"10. I don't think I'll be able to finish before."   
  
"9.30."   
  
Charles moves his jaw, clearly thinking about the possibility of the hour and finally concedes:    
  
"Alright, 9.30."   
  
Erik smiles and leans. His lips only brush past those warm and red, he doesn't do anything else. In his head, he pictures his tongue sliding against the one which is waiting for him, turning around it, kissing Charles' lips as hard as possible. Charles' all body actually shiver.    
  
"Tonight," Erik promises.    
  
"Tonight," Charles repeats.    
  
He leaves the shop with a dirty suit in his bag, a free coffee in his hand and the promise to finally spend the night with the waiter he's trying to hit on for months.    
  
(At the corner of the street, he gives his mug to a homeless person. Charles Xavier hates coffee.)   
  
(Charles Xavier already loves Erik Lehnsherr.)


End file.
